This Salt Lake City group is curating immersive events with a ‘backstory,’ where art is celebrated and no one is a VIP

On a chilly November evening, the floor of this intimate event studio in Salt Lake City is covered in blankets, plush poufs and inviting sofas.

A soft purple glow fills the room at Lark x Co and gentle lullaby music hums as people shuffle in. Some wear street clothes, but most are wrapped in robes or pajamas.

It feels like a big cozy sleepover is about to start — except there’s a small stage at the center of the space.

On it sits a microphone stand and bench, covered in a white sheet made to look like a bed. A smiling vintage moon hangs from above, channeling Georges Méliès’ 1902 landmark film, “Le Voyage dans la Lune” (A Trip to the Moon). But it’s also a nod to the evening’s hosts: The SLC Lunatics.

The group, known for their “immersive and imaginative” gatherings, themed tonight’s open mic event “Bedtime Stories with Bear.” It’s part of their Storytellers Canvas series, where artists of any medium can perform.

The “Bear” — an artist whose name is Alexis Harris but who goes by the stage name “Pfuzz” — emcees for the night. She sits at a table piled with children’s books.

Her mission is to pair each performer with a children’s book that matches their personality or the theme of their act.

“Don’t forget, you can’t leave with these books,” Pfuzz reminds the small crowd of about 30. “Some of them are library books.”

Nick Marucci is up first. Dressed in a fluffy teddy bear onesie, he begins reading a poem about his time in the Marine Corps on what happens to be Veteran’s Day.

He sobs, describing his feelings of survivor’s guilt and grief.

At first, it’s a stomach-churning scene. But the juxtaposition of his plush onesie and powerful piece seems to remind listening onlookers: We were all children once.

As the evening rolls on, Pfuzz does her best to pair children’s books with performances that dive into religious trauma, death and personal experiences with psychedelic drugs.

“I just want to take this opportunity to say there may not be a book for every situation,” Pfuzz jokes. “They didn’t write children’s books for some of the things you guys are talking about.”

Other performers discuss sexual assault. Prison. A disastrous pairing of Taco Bell and tequila that ended up splattered on an innocent bystander’s designer jacket.

The heavy is softened with each children’s book. One by one, people step up to the mic.

Who are The SLC Lunatics?

Brad Williams’ Salt Lake City home welcomes visitors with a six-foot tall crescent moon in his front yard.

At the “Bedtime Stories” open mic, the co-founder of SLC Lunatics wore a piranha “Snuggie,” complete with sewn-on eyes and teeth at the bottom, appearing as if the fish had swallowed him headfirst. The small gathering was just a taste of the immersive experiences the group is known for.

In his living room the following afternoon, Williams sports an eclectic jacket and black velvet slacks with a bowtie to match. His handlebar mustache curls upward in symmetric perfection.

His two co-founders sit across from him, both wearing ornate hats that complement their outfits.

One, Gerry Fralick, is a hatter himself, as well as a writer and musician. He describes his business, the Mad Haberdasher, as a “traveling pop-up.”

Mariah Fralick (not related) owns Bell, Book and Candle Vintage, another traveling pop-up specializing in “repurposed, curated, created ritual tools for daily practices of remembrance, celebration and self-care,” according to its website.

Her shop used to be located inside Church & State, an incubator for small Salt Lake City businesses and local artists, until 2024.

Church & State is also the birthplace of SLC Lunatics, Williams said. Marucci, the veteran who shared his vulnerable poem, is a longtime friend of Williams and had a cafe there in 2022. The two came up with the idea to bring more crowds in.

They started with small, modest events. That included “Uncommon Karaoke“ (like traditional karaoke but with a live trumpet accompanist); and “Sarcastic Cinema” (a screening of a classic film punctuated by comedians riffing).

“But we also wanted to do these themed parties, and we had a good deal with the owner of Church & State, where we didn’t necessarily have to rent the building, we just had to split our profits,” Williams said.

He always had a knack for throwing themed gatherings, but after the isolation of the pandemic, Williams said he felt stirred to dream up bigger, more intentional events.

“There’s this aspect of creating a wonderful thing that’s only there for a night,” he said.

“They’re not just themed,” Gerry Fralick chimed in. “Every experience comes with a backstory.”

Curating an experience with a ‘backstory’

SLC Lunatics’ events aren’t the kind of parties you’ll find decor for at a party store. They’re a full-on tumble down the rabbit hole into wonderland.

“We don’t throw drug parties,” Mariah Fralick was quick to clarify. ”We don’t throw raves. People are doing their own things or telling their stories.”

But the events are meant to inspire the kind of existential, introspective experiences often associated with psychedelics — no substances needed.

“We want to unmoor you from who you think you are,” Williams said. ”So you can be exposed and find yourself in a new mask that you may not have worn before.”

They do this, he explained, by blurring the lines between observer and performer. Not necessarily in an “interactive theater” way, but similar.

For instance, their annual “Sunset Exotica” party unfolds like a choose-your-own-adventure, built around a playful, philosophical prompt.

“Sunset Exotica is an island paradise gone slant,” Mariah Fralick explained. “Something’s amiss and must be solved.”

The annual gathering takes place in the West Jordan backyard of Steve Smith, who shared the unfortunate Taco Bell-and-tequila story. It’s designed like a small island escape, complete with sand, palm trees and tiki-style decor.

It’s also why Smith got the nickname “Tiki Steve.”

While Sunset Exotica’s themes have changed over the years, Tiki Steve’s backyard has remained the backdrop.

Their 2024 theme, “Movie Monsters in Paradise,” dropped guests into a B-list horror flick set during summer vacation. But it also asked them to confront the “little monsters inside” of themselves, Mariah Fralick said.

To do that, the party included a vampire confessional booth, where attendees shared their secrets with a vampire — played by Marucci.

“Instead of confessing to a priest, you’d confess to a vampire, and he’d give different advice than a priest would,” Williams said. He laughed, recalling how he told Marucci before the event not to give people bad advice.

This year’s Sunset Exotica was themed “Lord of the Butterflies,” a twist on William Golding’s 1954 novel “Lord of the Flies.” The party imagined attendees as passengers who had just arrived to the island aboard a 1920s steamship.

“For this event, there was a map,” Mariah Fralick said. “The map had on it every place where there was an experience.”

In the finale, an aerialist’s performance revealed that the “children” on the island had built a utopia immersed in art and creativity — quite different than the dystopian descent in “The Lord of the Flies.”

“The idea I wanted people to play around with is, are we inherently good?” Williams said. “Are we inherently evil? And the truth is, we’re inherently good.”

‘Oh, have you never tried the accordion?’

The “Lord of the Butterflies” reveal mirrored the SLC Lunatics’ own evolution.

“It’s funny, you start something, and then pretty soon, you hone in on what you like to do about it, and then you kind of change what you’re doing,” Williams said.

Beyond giving attendees a chance to try on different versions of themselves, the events showcase the work of local artists who help bring each world to life.

“The point is fostering these supportive communities of artists and drawing the larger community into that,” Mariah Fralick said.

With this comes the business side of all the fun.

“Forty percent of all the money we make goes directly to the artists,” Williams said. “We pay our artists. We feel like it feeds back to the community.”

Depending on the size of the event, a ticket costs anywhere between $25-$55, and everyone gets the same experience — something Williams is adamant about.

“We hate VIP,” Williams said. “We’re all humans, you know? I hate the idea that you can pay for a better experience than somebody else.”

The group also hosts smaller events throughout the year, like the Storyteller Canvases and pop-up jam sessions, where experienced musicians and those who may have never picked up an instrument sit down and play together.

In 2024, SLC Lunatics received a $2,000 grant from Element 11 to put on those jam sessions, which they refer to as “The Oasis of Sound.” With the money, they were able to purchase additional instruments.

“Then we just let anybody play with them,” Williams said. “We’re like ‘Oh, have you never tried the accordion? OK, just try that out.’”

It’s their way of bringing more artists into the fold.

“We’re a community embraced in art,” Gerry Fralick said. ”We think everyone’s an artist, whether they know it or not. So, we’re definitely trying to help them find that.”

Sierra Young is one of those found artists. She said she became involved with the SLC Lunatics in June after attending a Storytellers Canvas event.

“The first time I was here, I just felt brave enough and decided to perform,” Young said, adding that she read a poem she’d written. “It boosted my confidence so much. It made me feel like I’m a writer. I’m a performer. I can do this.”

Young has since attended some of the bigger events, which she describes as a little more “sexy and sensual.”

But what keeps her coming back are the people.

“It feels like it’s for fugitives, or the transients, or the people … on the edges of society,” Young said. “It feels like we all have a space here, and we all can be as weird and gross and uncensored as we want.”

“We’re not for everyone,” Williams admits. “I want everybody to come, but I feel like we’ll draw the right people.”

Gerry Fralick said the alternative — “acting like an adult” — is a cultural misnomer anyways.

“Maybe we could solve a lot of problems if we were more in contact with our childlike selves,” he said.

“We are grown adults,” Mariah Fralick added. “And we did not lose our sense of play, wonder, whimsy, joy, looking for sparks of curiosity in everything we do.”

The next big SLC Lunatics bash is on New Year’s Eve, and this time they’re stepping into “The Night Circus,” a nod to Erin Morgenstern’s 2011 fantasy novel about a black-and-white circus that materializes without warning and opens only after dark.

They staged the same theme once before for Valentine’s Day, but in true SLC Lunatics fashion, this version promises stranger twists they’re keeping under lock and key.

If you want to know what comes next, you can find upcoming event information on their Instagram page and website. Either way, you’ll have to wait until nightfall — and just maybe the circus will find you.

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